


The Wind Cries Mary

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-15
Updated: 2006-06-15
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8697022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Third in the Things My Brother Taught Me series. Warnings: Wincest, teen sex, strong language and a freaky appearance by a spirit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

The Wind Cries Mary

Title: The Wind Cries Mary  
Author: Hellskitten  
Email: crissyd33@yahoo.com   
Fandom: Supernatural  
Pairing: S/D  
Rating: NC-17   
Warnings: Wincest, teen sex, strong language and a freaky appearance by a spirit.   
Spoilers: Some from the episode “Home”, but this is mostly AU.  
Summary: This is a continuation of my story series “Things My Brother Taught Me” and “Wednesday’s Child”.  
Disclaimer: The boys and all their angst-ridden hotness belong to the WB. I’m just borrowing them so I can do naughty things to them without being arrested. At least I hope not.  
Soundtrack: “The Wind Cries Mary” by Jimi Hendrix  
  
***  
  
All she said was his name.  
  
Mary’s radiant spirit had been a ball of white light encased in a hellish blaze, but her pure, sweet soul was still there. After all those years, she was still their mom in every possible way. But all she’d said to him—in words, at least—was his name.   
  
_Dean_  
  
Standing in the shower, he couldn’t hear the water hammering down on his head and shoulders. He couldn’t hear the jackhammer tearing up the road just outside the motel window. All he could hear was his mother’s voice saying his name. In the few seconds she’d stood regarding him, her eyes were full of secrets and she was trying to impart them to her eldest son. He could tell she was trying to communicate, to download what she knew into his brain because she didn’t have the strength to use words. She’d needed all her strength to fight the poltergeist holding her baby son. Dean felt certain that was how she saw Sam, even when she was looking at him as a full grown young man. He was her helpless baby son and he needed her protection.   
  
But Dean saw the glow in her eyes when she was looking at him and he knew that she had lessons for him. Things her first born could use and things he would need. He was bitterly envious of Sam’s newfound second sight. If he’d had such power, his mother could have just given him everything she wanted to. Instead, he was left guessing. And wishing she would some back. Whatever she had to tell him, Dean felt sure he needed to know it.  
  
He got out of the shower and dried off, tying a towel around his naked waist. He brushed his teeth and put on deodorant, then he packed up his shaving kit and went out to the bedroom. There was a note on the night table beside his cell phone letting him know that Sam had gone out for a newspaper. He’d be back in ten minutes.   
  
While he dug in his bag for some clothes, Dean’s mind kept turning over the same thought. Ever since they’d had that unbelievable experience with their mother’s spirit, Sam had been keeping his distance. They weren’t even sleeping together, much less enjoying any other pleasures. Dean wondered and worried if Mary had seen the evidence of their intimacies in her sons’ eyes—if she had known somehow about that layer of their relationship. The idea bothered him greatly because of the potential there to disappoint her, but he knew there was nothing to be done about it. If she’d known, she’d known. He supposed they could hash it out when they were together again on the other side.   
  
Dean sensed that Sam was worrying over the same thing. Perhaps his own highly emotional encounter with Mary had driven him inward—away—at least for the time being. Maybe they both just needed to sort through it all privately. All Dean knew for sure was that he and Sam hadn’t touched each other since they left Lawrence and he was really feeling the separation.  
  
A key rattled in the motel room door and Sam appeared in the sunlit doorway. He had a newspaper folded under his arm and he was carrying his jacket. “Hey,” he said, closing the door after him. “It’s like 85 out there.”  
  
“It’s cool in here.”  
  
Sam tossed his jacket on the latest bed he’d slept badly in and then sat down, opening the paper to the front page.  
  
Dean took out a pair of rattier than usual jeans and kept digging for a clean shirt. He glanced at his brother as he squinted at the paper. “Anything?”  
  
“Maybe,” Sam said. “Three Girl Scouts disappeared in Denver while they were on a camping trip with their troop. No trace of them at all.”  
  
“Where were they camping?”  
  
“At a ranch called The Sidewinder. It’s one of those year round sleepaway camp things.” He looked up hopefully. “Sound interesting?”  
  
“What, you think we’ve got Son of Jason lurking around up there?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Never know. It’s not like we’ve got anything else goin’ on.” He went back to the paper, turning pages, glancing at a few more stories.   
  
Dean was unable to find any clean underwear and in a moment of annoyance, he upended his bag and dumped the contents out on the bed. Their father’s journal plopped out and landed on the floor. Sam picked it up, placed it back on Dean’s bed. He glanced at the scattering of his brother’s clothing and belongings.   
  
“Lose something?”  
  
“No,” Dean muttered, rifling the strewn garments. He still couldn’t find any clean shorts and he scowled in irritation.  
  
“Looks like you’re going commando,” Sam teased.   
  
Dean turned to him and narrowed his gaze. “How’d you know I was thinking that? Are you reading my mind?”   
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “I can’t read your mind, Dean. And even if I could, I wouldn’t need to. I already know every thought you ever have.” He held up his left hand and started counting on his fingers. “Eat, sleep, get my dick sucked, look for Dad, kill something, drive too fast, sing like a dork really loud, eat, get my dick sucked, look for Dad, sleep, rip shit on Sam, look for Dad, get my dick sucked . . .”  
  
In spite of his momentary fit of exasperation, Dean laughed hard, his nose crinkling up with the effort. “Bitch. Occasionally I DO think about other things.”  
  
“Right,” Sam said, grinning because he’d made his brother laugh. “I forgot about ‘keep Sam’s fingers outta my ass.’”  
  
Dean reached over and ruffled Sam’s warm, silky hair. That little bit of contact made him ache with longing for more and he turned away again. “I’m not really as one-track as you think.”  
  
“Actually, that was several tracks,” Sam playfully pointed out.  
  
“All leading to the same place,” Dean said, looking over his shoulder again. “Self-gratification. I’m really not THAT shallow, little brother.” He frowned because he was, in fact, feeling very shallow at the moment. Dean was plainly and simply horny as hell. Trying to distract himself, he went on to a less pleasant topic. “To hear Missouri tell it, I’m the biggest jackass that ever drew breath, though.”   
  
Sam sighed. “She was just givin’ you a hard time. I think she really liked you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean scoffed. “I’m surprised she didn’t tell me not to breathe because I was doing that wrong, too.” He grabbed the clean but ratty Levi’s he’d left out on the bed and unhooked the towel tied around his waist, letting it drop onto the non-descript greenish motel carpet. He shimmied into the jeans, carefully buttoning the fly over his bare genitalia.  
  
He plucked a long sleeved, faded gray t-shirt out of the mess on the bedspread and slipped it over his head. The shirt had a lime-sized hole at the seam of the left shoulder. Turning around, he held out his arms and said, “This dashing ensemble represents the last of my clean clothes so we need to find a motel with laundry facilities tonight.”  
  
“I’ll make a note of it,” Sam said, once again squinting with interest at something in the newspaper.  
  
“Did you find Michael Meyers in there, too?” Dean said, grumpily cramming all his dirty clothes back into his bag.  
  
“No . . .” Sam said, distracted. “It’s just an article about an outbreak of food poisoning at a local diner. Speaking of which, are you getting hungry yet?”  
  
Dean pushed his bag aside and sat down heavily on the bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and regarded his brother closely. “As a matter of fact, I’m practically starving, Sammy.” He held his brother’s gaze to punctuate his double meaning. “Are we ever gonna talk about it? The whole mom thing? Cuz . . . you haven’t touched me since it happened and I’m starting to get . . . anxious.”  
  
Sam’s lips tilted in a grin that looked so much like one of Dean’s. “You mean horny.”  
  
“Okay, horny,” he conceded. “So, let’s talk about it.”  
  
“Sure.” Sam put the paper aside and mimicked Dean’s position on the opposite bed. “What do you want to talk about?”  
  
His hands full of nervous energy, he folded and unfolded them. Finally, Dean looked down at the floor and made himself speak the words in his head. “Did she . . . say anything to you?”  
  
Sam blinked. “You were right there, dude. She said the same thing to both of us—our names. And then she told me she was sorry, but . . .” His eyes clouded over and he shook his head. “I can’t imagine what for. It’s not like she planned on dying when I was baby. That’s not her fault or anything.” Sam sighed. “I hope she doesn’t feel that way. Like it was her fault.”  
  
Dean reached over and slipped his fingers behind Sam’s warm neck. They looked at each other and Dean tried a comforting smile.  
  
“I don’t think that’s what she meant, man. I think she was just saying sorry that she couldn’t be with you. With us.”  
  
Sam nodded, leaning affectionately into Dean’s touch. “It was just so . . . incomplete.”  
  
“I know. That’s what I mean,” Dean said. “Did she say anything else to you—like, mentally? I guess I mean psychically.”   
  
“No,” Sam said. “All the words she had went to the poltergeist. And then she was gone.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips, perplexed. “It’s just that . . . when she was looking at me . . . it seemed like . . .”  
“She was trying to tell you something,” Sam said. “Believe it or not, I was actually aware of that. Even though I was totally freaked out and being held hostage by that . . . whatever it was. I saw her looking at you, Dean. I could tell she was, like . . . trying to communicate.”  
  
Dean’s heart started to pound and he drew Sam closer to him with his hand behind his neck.   
“Did you hear anything . . . of what she was trying to say to me?”  
  
Sam just shook his head, sadly. “It sorta seemed like she couldn’t . . . like, make it work. Does that make sense?”  
  
“Completely. I thought that, too. Like she knew what she wanted to say, she just couldn’t say it. Like a language barrier or something.”  
  
Sam nodded, then he looked down at his hands. “Who knows what it’s like where she is. Maybe they don’t talk anymore . . . after a while. Maybe it stops being necessary.”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean just watched his little brother for a minute as he sat there thinking, his smooth brow wrinkling and evening out as he turned things over in his incredibly quick mind.  
  
“It was weird,” Sam said softly. “I don’t remember her like you do—ya know, walking and talking and all that. I just know her from the photos.”  
  
“Of course you don’t remember, you were a baby when she died.”  
  
“I know—I mean, I remember some things. Like . . . I remember her voice and her scent. And her eyes. But I don’t remember what she looked like, except from the pictures. Having her there was like . . . a photograph suddenly coming alive. It was just . . . weird.”  
  
“And everything else happening in that moment wasn’t?” Dean said and they both laughed, but the sound of it was brittle and hollow.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said, thoughtfully. He looked down at his hands and for a long time, neither of them spoke. And then he said, “do you think she knows?”  
  
Dean felt his heart jump and he let out a ragged sigh. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that,” he said. “I mean . . . on the one hand, she’s a spirit—and who knows WHAT they know or what they have access to with respect to the living? She might have known all this time or she might not know at all.”  
  
“Or she might’ve just found out,” Sam said. The Winchester brothers looked at each other.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“It’s buggin’ you, too, huh?” Sam asked. “That she knows . . . and that she’s . . . mad at us. Or something.”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean ran his fingers through his short dark blond hair. “It’s not like we can do anything about it, though. I mean . . . we can’t talk to her. Explain ourselves.”  
  
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Explain what, Dean? That we can’t keep our hands off each other sexually? If she were here for us to talk to, do you really think she’d take it any differently than Dad did?”  
  
Flopping back onto the bed, Dean covered his face with his hands. He sighed from the bottom of his belly and then he spoke through his fingers. “If it makes you feel guilty, Sam, we should stop.”  
  
“I don’t feel the least bit guilty,” Sam said, matter-of-factly. “That’s not what I said. I’m just saying . . . that I’m sure Mom . . . wouldn’t get it. Any more than Dad did. Any more than _anyone_ does.”  
  
Dean felt his brother’s weight on the bed beside him and he turned to Sam just as he was stretching out. They looked at each other but said nothing for a long time. Finally, Dean took in a shaky breath.  
  
“Do you want to stop?”  
  
“No,” Sam replied with no hesitation. “Do you?”  
  
“No,” Dean replied in kind. And then much softer, he added, “It’s important to me, Sammy.”  
  
“Me, too.” Sam pressed closer on the bed until he could touch Dean’s lips with his own. The kiss was tender, fluttering, almost platonic—but not quite. “So let’s ditch the angst, okay? If Mom’s mad at us, we’ll find out soon enough.” He brushed his nose against Dean’s then kissed him again.   
  
Dean could feel Sam’s long lashes against his own and he shivered, leaning into the heat of the kiss. In seconds, their mouths were wet and insistent, tongues stroking and tangling, caressing all the familiar, sensitive places. Dean moaned when Sam took his bottom lip into his mouth and sucked at it, his fingers pulling through his brother’s kitten-soft hair. He couldn’t get that boy close enough to him, it seemed. He kept pulling Sam’s long, lean body toward him, pressing into him, tasting him, needing him, possessing him.  
  
Sam broke the kiss and buried his face in Dean’s neck, tasting the skin there, grazing it with his teeth. Against Sam’s vulnerable earlobe, Dean whispered.   
  
“Dad’s still mad at us. He’s never forgiven of for this.”  
  
“Well, that should tell you a lot about Dad,” Sam said. “Mainly, that he’s wrong. At least about this.” The younger Winchester covered Dean’s mouth with a smoldering kiss, shifting his hips to rub their swelling cocks together through their jeans.   
  
Dean reached for Sam’s waist, holding onto it, guiding him until they found the most pleasurable position to grind into each other. Once there, their kisses began to burn with lust and their heartbeats pounded in the same rhythm. Sam’s hands scrambled for Dean’s bare skin, reaching up under his torn shirt to stroke his back and his panting belly. Dean tingled everywhere he was touched and he felt himself getting dangerously close to coming. God, he’d really been missing this.  
  
The urgency in their embrace brought back a strong memory for him. It had been the last time he’d attempted to take the high road with Sam. The last time he’d lost the battle with himself and succumbed to his undeniable desire for his brother’s touch. He’d never fought it again after that day. That had been the day he’d finally let his baby brother take the reigns.   
  
***  
  
Dean had just come home from school and he’d passed Sammy at his desk in his bedroom.  
“Hey, kid,” he’d called on his way down the hall.  
  
“Hey,” Sammy called back, lifting his gaze from a book the size of a compact car.   
  
“Where’s Dad at?” Dean was in his room, shrugging off his backpack and his jacket. It was hot out that day and he was looking forward to getting a big glass of ice tea downstairs. He knew it was in the frig because he’d made himself the night before. Orange and mint flavored sweet tea, his favorite.  
  
“He said he was going to see someone in town and that he’d be back after dinner,” Sam replied, calling down the quiet hallway from his room. “He left us money to get pizza.”  
  
Dean had nodded to himself, vaguely wondering what new and terrifying beastie they would be hunting next. He sat on the bed to take his shoes off and then Sammy had appeared in the doorway.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Sure.” Dean kicked off his tennis shoes and started peeling off his socks.  
  
“Why is it called a ‘blow job’?”  
  
Caught completely off guard, Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. “Out of the blue much? I dunno, dude. You got me there.”  
  
Sammy forged on with his inquiry as though he were doing research for a school project. “You don’t really BLOW, do you?”  
  
“I . . . guess you can, if you want to. That would probably feel kinda cool. But it’s not really the point.”  
  
Sammy’s expression was serious, full of concentration. “It’s about sucking, right? The sucking is what feels good.”  
  
“Right,” Dean replied softly, uneasily. Suddenly, they were holding each other’s gaze intently across the quiet, warm room. The air itself seemed to have gone still. “Where’s this coming from, Sam?”  
  
“I’m just wondering,” the younger brother said and then he’d crept gracefully across the room and sat beside Dean on the bed. His green eyes glinted with sly curiosity. “Have you ever had a blow job?”  
  
“Yes,” Dean said warily. “Don’t even go there, dude.”  
  
Totally ignoring the admonition, Sammy scooted sideways until their legs were touching and then he leaned in and whispered in his brother’s ear.  
  
“But I really wanna try it on you. I bet you taste so yummy, Dean.”  
  
The entire surface of Dean’s skin erupted in shimmering chills of anticipation and he licked his lips. But he knew better than this. He knew he should discourage Sammy’s explorations because they were getting more and more edgy. Heading him off at the pass would be the right thing to do—the good ‘big brother/protector’ thing to do. “Um . . . I don’t know, Sammy,” he said with what sounded to his own ear like an appropriate level of disapproving doubt. “That’s pretty . . . intense.”  
  
“Julia’s done it to you, huh?” the younger Winchester said, referring to Dean’s steady girl. His dark green eyes sparkled.   
  
Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. There was really no harm in answering the question, though. Was there? He’d just wished Sammy wasn’t sitting so damned close to him.  
  
“Yes, Julia likes doing that to me,” he said.  
  
“Do you like it?” Sam whispered.  
  
Dean nodded in response and then he swallowed as the blood rushed in his veins, suddenly heating his fingers and toes and lips. And of course, his eager young cock, which sprang to pulsing life in his shorts. Sam’s fresh bread scent was all over him now, literally making his stomach growl. He looked down, knowing he was already in deep shit.  
  
“So, it feels good?” Sammy went on, his voice softening to a rough whisper. He pressed his chest forward into Dean’s arm and gently brushed his nose against the soft flesh of Dean’s earlobe. Sammy had learned from hours of practice that this tiny, precise touch rendered his big brother powerless.   
  
“Yeah,” Dean breathed, trembling from an onslaught of yearning. “It feels really good.” He closed his eyes as Sammy’s hot lips took his earlobe between them and sucked very gently—just enough to push him those few scant inches over the edge. “Sammy, don’t . . .” Dean’s breath came out in a shaky hiss and he forced himself to stand up. Walking across the room, he leaned against the dresser there and faced his brother directly. “I want you to listen to me, okay, kiddo?”  
  
Sammy nodded, his expression genuinely perplexed.   
  
Dean cleared his throat. “We can’t . . . just keep doing this stuff. It’s not . . . it’s just that it’s not right. You know that, Sammy. You’re thirteen now and I know you understand what I’m saying.”  
  
For a long moment, Sam just sat there seeming to mull over what his brother had said. And then he slid off the bed and sauntered toward the door. “Okay,” he said as casually as if he were strolling through the park on a summer day. He offered Dean a sparkling, white-toothed smile and then he left the room.  
  
Dean blinked after him, a bit stunned at how quickly that situation had been defused. He’d never expected Sam would be so easily convinced. Nonetheless, he HAD been—and that was a good thing. Sort of. Dean was still left with that tickling, painful erection.   
  
Knowing his dad was gone for a few hours, he walked over and closed his bedroom door. He laid down on the bed and unbuttoned his jeans just enough to expose his heavy, twitching cock. He was already leaking and he used the pad of his index finger to smear the lubricant around the sensitive head and slit. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining Sammy’s little pink tongue doing that to him, instead. As he started stroking himself, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. In the darkness behind his eyelids, all he could see was his brazen little brother acting out all his naughty plans. Where the hell was he learning about all this stuff, anyway? Must have been some kid at school. Some perverted eighth grader who knew he had a rapt, captive audience in Dean’s inquiring, reckless baby brother.  
  
The more intense the pleasure became, the more his imagination stole into those dark corners—those places that were secret and bad, the places where he kept his dirtiest, most shameful thoughts. He recalled the first time he and Sammy had touched each other and then he thought about every time they’d done it since. Their investigations of one other’s bodies had grown bolder and bolder, to the point of some dangerous risk taking.   
  
One night a few weeks earlier, Sammy had crawled into his lap while all three of them were in the living room watching television. Their dad had nodded off on the couch and Dean was in a chair on his own. Sammy had slipped into his lap and started up with those molten kisses that Dean just could not resist. They’d kept it quiet and hadn’t got caught, but Dean had been so aroused by the danger that he saw stars when he came. He knew it was bad to enjoy such risks . . . but he simply couldn’t help himself.  
  
He moaned softly as his balls drew up close to his body. He reached for them and gave them a nice, deep massage that made his nipples itch and then he went back to stroking his cock. Lifting his hips up, he opened his eyes so he could watch himself masturbate—and that was when he saw Sammy. His little brother was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, his cute young face flushed with mischief and excitement.  
  
Dean sighed a bit wearily and rested back on the bed, partially covering his shuddering cock with his hand. “Sammy, please . . .” he said gently, with no anger. “Just leave me alone, okay? This is your fault, anyway. You did this to me.”  
  
“I just want to watch you, Dean,” Sam had said in a soft, pleading whisper. “I won’t touch you.” He’d lowered his chin slightly, showing that unnerving expression of seduction. “Unless you want me to.”  
  
Dean’s body was zinging with pleasure, hovering on the edge of orgasm. Everything felt good, everything felt hot and he couldn’t wait to shoot. Licking his swollen lips, he turned his head away from his brother and resumed his stroking in earnest. He didn’t mind if Sammy watched—in fact, he really enjoyed it when Sammy watched. Somehow having that keen witness made the orgasm more intense. He kept his eyes closed as he felt that telltale tingle way down deep in his gut. Lifting his hips again, he squeezed his butt cheeks together tightly right at the last second—and then he dropped down over the edge into a blistering climax.   
  
He gasped and bit his lip hard, tugging his pulsing erection with deft, slick fingers. He rubbed and rubbed until the delicious spurting stopped and then he collapsed back on the bed. His belly and chest were streaked with warm, milky semen and he reached for the towel he kept under his pillow for just such a purpose. As he wiped himself off, he glanced to the door and was completely surprised to find Sammy was gone. Truth be told, Dean was more than a little disappointed.  
  
He got up only buttoning his fly half way because he was still hard, and he went down the hall to Sam’s room. The door was open just a crack and Dean peered inside. He held his breath when he saw his little brother leaning against his bed, jeans down around his knees, hips forward and his right hand a blur pumping his stiff young cock. He was watching himself intently, his green eyes fiercely focused . . . waiting for the moment when he’d shoot. Dean watched, as well. In fact, Dean could not have moved even if he’d wanted to. He and Sam had made each other come hundreds of times since they started that sort of play, but he’d never seen his brother pleasuring himself—at least, not like this. Not with this much ferocity. It was almost as though he were trying to exorcise something evil . . . something that didn’t belong inside him.  
  
Dean pushed the door open and it creaked softly on its hinges. Sammy looked up at him but never stopped his ministrations. He panted and his neck and face were flushed with rushing blood. Nothing was said between them. Dean just walked into the room and crawled onto his brother’s bed, drawing him backward onto the blankets. They looked at each other and Sammy gasped and then he started to whine and groan like he was being carved in half. Dean felt a hot splash strike his forearm but he never took his eyes off Sam’s. His brother moaned and panted through a nice long orgasm and then he reached up quickly, pulling Dean down into a hard slippery kiss. Their lips touched, slid against each other, parted and then their tongues were battling.   
  
Breathing deep, Dean savored the salty heat of Sammy’s mouth. He pulled his brother to him on the bed until their bodies were flush and then they rolled over twice, kissing, until they touched the wall at the far side of the bed. For a moment, they broke their embrace and looked at each other again, both pairs of moss colored eyes imploring.   
  
“We’re gonna go to hell for this,” Dean murmured worriedly, and he meant it.   
  
“I think . . . we’re probably going to hell, anyway,” Sam said, his tone troublingly grave. “I mean . . .”  
  
Dean kissed him again and whispered in his warm, satiny ear. “I know what you mean, Sammy.” He nuzzled that soft, hot neck, tasting the fresh perspiration on his brother’s skin. Clean boy sweat. Dean licked it, swallowed it, licked it again. Sammy’s fingers were in Dean’s hair, stroking it over and over again as though he couldn’t get enough of the silky texture.   
  
“I couldn’t stop,” the younger boy said. “It was like . . . I mean . . . I was watching you touch yourself . . . and then I just . . . kinda went crazy.” He turned his head and found Dean’s lips again, sucking them both hungrily, wetly. Then he smiled into the kiss and said, “I think I broke something.”  
  
Dean laughed softly, then he rolled onto his back on Sam’s bed. His brother followed, wiggling out of his jeans all together and tossing them on the floor. He looked at Dean with his eyes wide, almost shy.   
  
“Did you feel that way, too?” Sammy whispered. “When you saw me? Is that why you came in?” He stretched out along Dean’s side, resting his head on his brother’s chest. His left knee was slightly bent and laying over Dean’s thigh, the bare skin touching the metal buttons of his fly.   
  
Dean remembered being mesmerized by that small detail. He’d stared at Sam’s naked leg, dusted with glistening, boyish, golden hairs that looked unbelievably soft—all that young flesh lying so near his own half exposed cock. The scent of Sammy’s fresh semen was thick and sugary in the warm air. It reminded him a little of sweet potato pie. He hadn’t answered his brother’s question yet, but Sammy seemed to be aware of his thoughts. He shifted quietly beside Dean, his hot fingers pushing Dean’s t-shirt up to expose his belly. Sam kissed Dean’s skin several times, rubbing his nose into the delicate line of flaxen hairs below his navel.  
  
“Sammy,” he’d said, knowing they were approaching the edge of the abyss. It was Dean’s last ditch effort of protest.  
  
Sam had just looked at him as he scooted down on the mattress and tugged open the last two buttons of Dean’s fly. The pop they made was loud in the buzzing silence of the bedroom. Dean froze while he watched his brother negotiate the fabric of his jeans, moving it back and down, out of his way, finally exposing his hips to the still, tense air. Sammy rolled onto his belly, supporting his weight on his elbows so his hands were free . . . and then he curled his fingers around Dean’s half hard cock, holding it up and raising it to his hungry pink lips.  
  
“Wait,” Dean said, touching his thumb to Sam’s mouth. The younger Winchester looked at him warily, clearly worried he was being stopped again. So close . . . so close.   
  
Dean smiled a little at the obvious expression, then he brushed his thumb over Sam’s lips tenderly. “I just want you to watch your teeth, little brother. Cover them with your lips like this.” Dean curled his full, curvy lips into an ‘O’ shape, then nodded to Sam to do the same.  
  
Sam swallowed, wet his lips again, then mirrored the shape he’d been taught with his own mouth. Dean slid his thumb right into that shameless opening and Sammy sucked on it like a greedy infant. Shivering all over, Dean grinned. “That’s right . . . good.” He let Sam suck on his thumb for a few more seconds, the sensation resonating all over his body and the sound of it ramping up his heart rate again. His cock throbbed in his brother’s hot little hand and he was achingly hard again.   
  
Sammy put a reverent kiss in the palm of Dean’s hand before he turned his attention to his most coveted new task. His enthusiasm was brimming and palpable and it made Dean blush to be its object. But the room was quiet and sultry and he was so aroused again . . . he couldn’t wait to feel Sammy’s mouth on him.   
  
With an unwavering gaze, Dean held his breath while Sam extended his tongue and lapped at a clear drop of fluid that had appeared at the tip of Dean’s cock. He licked the drop, swallowed it then licked again, that time all around the head in a soft sweep. Dean trembled and Sam looked at him, hopefully. Dean nodded to tell him he was doing it right. Oh, so very right. And then Sam had licked his lips and covered the entire head of Dean’s cock with his mouth all at once.   
  
For a moment, they both froze, eyes on each other, hearts pounding. Then Dean felt Sammy’s tongue slithering slowly along the sensitive glands, teasing the skin and tasting the flesh. Sam lifted his mouth off for a moment, swallowing what was likely a sudden blast of salty lubricant, then he lowered down again. At first, he just slid up and down, being overly careful not to graze Dean’s cock with his teeth. The pressure was delicious but not quiet enough to do the job. Dean stroked Sam’s hair until his younger brother looked up at him with his pretty green eyes glimmering with lust.  
  
“Just a little harder,” he whispered, his belly trembling. He could feel Sam trembling too—all over. It made a soft vibration in the bed that made the hairs on Dean’s skin stand up and electrify.  
  
Sammy’s eyes sparkled and then Dean felt the exquisite pleasure of being sucked—nice and firm, wanton and wet, piercing and erotic—perfect. He moaned out loud, still petting Sammy’s damp, soft hair. They watched each other without flinching and Sammy kept up a steady rhythm, stopping every once in a while to swallow and moisten his lips again. Dean sighed and moaned unabashedly, getting completely carried away by the sensations.  
  
His girlfriend Julia was two years older than Dean and she had more sexual experience than he had. She’d given him blow jobs many times and he’d enjoyed them all a great deal—but they had felt nothing like this. Each time, it had taken Julia almost fifteen minutes to make Dean come—which was saying something for a ripe sixteen-year-old boy. He knew for certain it would take Sam less than two minutes to get things done.  
  
Not that Dean was in any hurry for all that forbidden bliss to end.  
  
His hips pumped instinctively and then he stopped himself, breathing in shallow pants trying to control the impulses in his tingling loins. He murmured Sam’s name under his breath and that made his brother look up into his eyes. Clearly, he liked that. It probably made him feel in control. In that moment, young Sam Winchester most certainly WAS in control.  
  
Sam’s lips tightened ever so slightly and he sucked harder, drawing all the hot blood to the tip of Dean’s cock. They were both moaning by then, both shivering and beaded with sweat in that hot room. Dean groaned and grabbed at the blankets under him with his fingers. His inner thighs felt like they’d suddenly burst into flames and then he realized Sammy was scratching them very gently with his fingernails. The added sensation proved crippling to Dean’s efforts to maintain control and he was coming in the next second.   
  
The seed exploded out of him and filled Sam’s mouth again and again. Dean kept his eyes on his brother, watching to make sure he didn’t choke or anything. Sam’s eyes had slipped closed in his own personal rapture and he moaned long and slow. Dean heard him swallowing again and again and the idea of Sammy doing that made him tremble so hard, it felt like a convulsion. He tried to calm his thrusts but the orgasm was too powerful. His lean hips bounced on the bed and Sammy held on, riding out his brother’s climax like a bucking bronco.  
  
Finally, Dean collapsed on the bed, wet with sweat, gasping, trying to calm himself. He felt Sam kissing his thighs and his tummy, his sweet fingers still gently holding Dean’s humming cock. His fingers went back into that thatch of chestnut hair and Sam smiled up at him. He was flushed and sweaty and his chin glistened with semen he hadn’t been able to swallow. Dean wiped his brother’s face with his thumb and Sam sucked it again, cleaning away every drop of that spilt nectar.   
  
“Was that right?” he whispered, stretching out against Dean again. He was still shaking a little and the front of his briefs was wet and sticky. Dean kissed him.  
  
“Do you really need to ask?”  
  
Sam laid back on the bed and let out a deep, satisfied sigh. His beautiful face beamed with accomplishment.  
  
***   
  
Dean leaned against the headboard of that motel bed and Sam lay besides him, snuggled, his long limbs wrapped around Dean’s naked body. Dean absently stroked his brother’s hair, tickling the impossibly soft spot at the nape. He loved that spot. Always had. It seemed somehow secretive, private and Dean loved the idea that he was the only one who knew how to truly appreciate it.   
  
He stared at the window but the curtains were drawn, so all he could see was the daylight filtering in. And he knew it was getting away from them.  
  
“You asleep?” he whispered.  
  
Sam tilted his head up to look at him. “Just chillin’.”  
  
“Then we should get going.”  
  
“What’s the rush?”  
  
Dean frowned playfully. “Uh . . . missing Girl Scouts?”  
  
Sam smiled, rested his head again. “They’re probably just lost in the woods. They’ll turn up.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly, nuzzling Dean’s warm belly with soft kisses.   
  
Running his fingers up Sam’s spine, Dean kissed his brother’s forehead. “That was nice, Sammy. I needed that.”  
  
“Me, too.” Sam kissed him again just below his left nipple, then he sat up slowly and stretched.   
“You’re right, though. We should go. If nothing else, we need to find somewhere to do laundry. Can’t have you runnin’ around with your impressive manhood hangin’ out.” He winked then got off the bed, heading for the bathroom.  
  
Dean sat up, too, grabbing his jeans off the floor where Sam had tossed them. He stepped into them, buttoned up, then looked around the softly lit room for his beat up gray shirt. He spotted it on top of the dresser, just beneath the mirror and he grinned at how far it had gone when Sam threw it. Now that’s heat of passion for ya. As he approached the dresser, he caught his reflection in the small, old motel mirror—and he froze.  
  
Mary stood behind him in her pristine white nightgown, long blonde hair flowing in a breeze Dean could not feel. She watched him for a moment, her lovely face glowing with a smile that made her eyes look like sapphires.   
  
Dean put his lips together and tried to say something, but he couldn’t. All he could do was watch her, terrified to blink—praying she wouldn’t vanish. And then suddenly, she spoke to him.  
  
“Dean,” she said and her voice was a vibration deep inside him—not really a current sound, but an echo of an old one. “Keep him close . . . any way you can.”  
  
Dean swallowed, nodded dutifully to his mother’s image in the mirror. But he wanted desperately to ask her which of them she meant—Sam or Dad.   
  
Mary smiled at him and he swore she was going to say something else—but just then, Sam came out of the bathroom. As soon as he appeared in that doorway, the front door of their motel room flew open, creating a tunnel of sunlight and warm wind that rushed around them both before it settled.  
  
“Whoa,” Sam said, staring wide-eyed at the front door, then back at his brother. “Did I do that?”  
  
Thinking quickly, Dean shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He glanced at the mirror and found himself alone in the reflection—but still . . . he knew she’d been there. And that time, her message was just for him. With his heart heavy and strangely full, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on.  
  
“I haven’t done anything like that in years,” Sam rattled on, unaware. “I wasn’t even thinking about opening the door.” He shook his head. “Huh. That’s just weird.” He went to his bag and started to pack up while Dean did the same. For a few minutes, they were quiet, just going about the task of gathering their things.  
  
“So,” the younger Winchester said. “Girl Scouts?”  
  
“Why not? But food first.” Dean zipped his bag and grabbed it, heading out into the bright day.  
  
Sam had been right, it was hot as hell out there—but Dean didn’t mind. He took a few deep breaths as he walked to the Impala, taking in the sunny air gratefully. It seemed to fill him up in every corner and to warm him from the inside.  
  
The end.


End file.
